Pity the Living
by USMCcAnthem
Summary: "Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all those who live without love." – Albus Dumbledore. The heavens wept with him until he no longer could. Post OotP. Angsty piece. One-shot. Complete.


" _Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all those who live without love."_ – Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

* * *

It was raining outside, water falling from heavy, grey clouds that blocked the sun's rays. The grass and leaves of the bushes and trees shown an intense green while the rest of the world was bleached of colour. I watched the raindrops streak down the window like runners racing to the finish line, gaining ground every time they absorbed another drop of water already on the pane. I could hear the blare of the television downstairs, playing an action movie of sorts if the sounds were any indication. I could hear the strained laughter of my aunt while my uncle muttered something, only the loudness of his voice discernable over the sounds of gunfire. However, in my room, nothing moved.

I sat at the desk, the drab light reflecting the shadows of the raindrops onto the scattered bits of parchment that lay on its top. Motionless, all I could do was stare at the rain outside and pretend that it was the shadows of the rain that traced grooves down my face instead of the tears that they actually were.

 _Squawk._

I turned, moving for the first time in a long while to stare at my owl. She looked at me intensely with luminous amber eyes that shone with emotions normal owls wouldn't have. I smiled tremulously and she cooed quietly as I returned to my vigil.

Even the heavens wept for him.

Sirius.

The tears burned as a fresh wave of them ran down the troughs made by those already shed. I stifled the sob that clawed at my chest and faced determinatively forward. My hands trembled at the repressed emotions as I picked up my discarded quill and once again dipped it in the ink. My eyes were unseeing as I stared down at the tearstained parchment with words already scribbled down in my horrible chicken scratch. The ink spattered onto the paper when I didn't start to write right away, but I cared little. Presentation mattered little in this, only the content held importance.

Eventually the pitter-patter of the rain soothed my aching soul enough that I was able to function. I let the quill touch the paper and move jerkily as I conveyed my thoughts into words, and words into stilted sentences. With bitter amusement I thought of the conniption fit Hermione would have at such horrible sentence structure. However, she would no doubt be too worried over the contents to worry about such a little thing. Not that I would ever show her.

It wouldn't do to show her my suicide note.

I choked on the laugh and let it turn into the sob it truly wanted to be, my quill once more abandoning the parchment to fall noiselessly to the desk. I brought my hands to my face and cried deep, heart rendering sobs that racked through my body painfully. The terrifyingly intense sadness ripped at my soul until I felt… detached. I could feel nothing but numbness, even as my lungs gasped for air and my body shivered hard. I was cold, I knew this, but I cared little.

The numbness was better than the utter desolation that I felt in a world where my only escape was ripped from me. Another connection to my parents, another guardian who cared, a man who was able to see _me_ for who I was for even just a moment, was gone. No one had looked at _me_ and seen _me_ , not Hermione, not Ron, nor Remus and certainly not my relatives. I was _The_ Harry Potter, James and Lily's son, and the _freak_. Sirius wasn't perfect, certainly not. He had his issues with remembering that I wasn't James, but when he did remember, it was _me_ that he saw.

And that was gone.

The rain outside grew louder, as the true body of the storm rolled into the Little Whinging area. The grey clouds darkened to an even more sinister shade as wind whipped through the area, throwing things this way and that. The deep, rolling sound of thunder echoed across the suburb for a few moments before the crack of lightning lit up the sky. I stared blankly at the storm, not truly seeing it; the cold, the numbness, freezing my body like little else could. I let it take over me, ignoring the persistent hoots of Hedwig and the blaring of the television downstairs as the world collapsed around me.

The heavens wept, and I could no longer feel anymore to weep with them.


End file.
